"She ought to come to school," said Dexter.
"Oh!" exclaimed Silas, with surprise sufficient to convince the father that the young man had not attempted to practise a deceit.
"Yes," said Dexter, "she ought, she's old enough,"—as if that were all he had been waiting for.
"I think so," answered Silas Swift, with a decision encouraging to hear, and final as to influence.
"You do? Yes, I ought to afford it, if I lived on a crust to manage the bills. Why not? What's the difference 'twixt her and the rest, I'd like to know?"
"She could beat the whole batch at her books," said Silas, not doubting that he spoke with moderation.
"Pretty quick, wasn't she?" said the pleased father. "Yes, I know Columby!"
"And she deserves it."
"Deserves! You don't think I've been waiting to find that out! Well, Sir, put it that way, I say, Yes, she does deserve it."
Dexter and young Swift, having spoken thus far, thought on in their several directions, with serious, steady, strong, far-reaching looks into the future.
Thus it was that Columbia Dexter took her place in the great school, where girls, it was said, were regarded and taught as responsible human beings.
Silas Swift looked so grave, whenever the families mentioned Dexter's resolution, that Columbia, who had made him repeat already many times his reflections and observations in the school-room that day when he and her father were employed in its decoration, said to him one morning, when they happened to be alone together,—
"I'm afraid you don't think well of what we're going to do."
Whereupon he, somewhat proudly for him, answered,—
"I told your father, when he asked me, what I thought, before he had made up his mind."
"What did you say?" she asked,—though she could have guessed correctly, had he insisted upon it, but Silas was not in the mood.
"I said it should be done," he answered, seriously.
"I should go to school?"
"Yes, it is but right."
"Then why do you look so solemn?"
"You're going away from us."
Her hand was lying quietly in his, when she answered,—
"Going away? I shall see you three times every day. What do you mean?"
"When there was your father and mother and me, 'us four, and no more,' there were not dozens to think about. You'll have dozens now."
"I hope they will be pleasant," she said, looking away, that he should not see how bright her eyes were, when his were so grave.
"I hope they will. And I'm sure of it. Never fear. I suppose, too, they must make you like themselves, some ways. I'd be glad, if I thought you'd make any of them like you."
"How's that?" she asked, half laughing, but she trembled as well. What would honest Silas say next, he was making such a very grave business out of this school-going?
"True,—modest,—sensible,—respectful,—a lady, ten times more than those they make up so fine," said he, slowly. And still he held her hand as quietly as if it did not thrill with quickening pulses; and his speech and composure showed what power of self-control the young man had,—for he was fearful when he looked forward, anticipating the change this year might bring to pass in and for Columbia Dexter.
But Dexter and Company looked forward with no forebodings, when they bought the needful school-books, and saw their daughter fairly occupied with them. They had not been ashamed to reveal their hopes and fears to the principal. She really listened in a way that made them love her, you will know how,—as if she had the interest of the girl at heart,—as though she would not deal so
